


Running Up That Hill

by tentacledicks



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Depression, Family Feels, Gen, Mikkel Would Be Best Wife, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: He hadn’t caught Tuoni’s attention yet, and the Swan was notably absent. Summer was a dangerous time for troll activity, and there would be any number of wandering souls for the Swan to sweep under its wings and take home. If he was going to cross the water—and he was—now would be the best time. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to do more than stare out into the fog shrouding Tuonela, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his body remaining stubbornly human rather than embracing the shape of his luonto to make use of its wings.Onni has someone he's desperate to see.





	Running Up That Hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/gifts).

> Can be read as platonic or very lightly shippy, but I stand by the fact that Mikkel would make a great wife.

The black water rushed against the rocky shoreline under his feet, but it did not rise any further. A cold comfort, given his purpose for standing on the river’s shore, but Onni wouldn’t let himself think of it that way. He was looking for his sister. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He hadn’t caught Tuoni’s attention yet, and the Swan was notably absent. Summer was a dangerous time for troll activity, and there would be any number of wandering souls for the Swan to sweep under its wings and take home. If he was going to cross the water—and he was—now would be the best time. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to do more than stare out into the fog shrouding Tuonela, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his body remaining stubbornly human rather than embracing the shape of his luonto to make use of its wings.

Ridiculous to be scared after all he’d done since leaving Keuruu. The longer he waited, the smaller his window of opportunity would be. If he just took the shape of an owl— 

_ And if you get stuck? _ whispered the traitorous voice that never quite sounded like his own. _ If you trap yourself there and cannot find Tuuri anyways? What will you do when you can’t find your way home? _

_ What will you do when nobody comes looking for you? _

That was the _ point_, he told himself sternly. Telling Lalli he was headed elsewhere, telling Mikkel to make sure the Swede took care of him, making arrangements so the last member of his family would be well taken care of in his absence—that was the whole point of it all. He couldn’t abide by the idea of Lalli following him into this foolish, idiotic scheme, anymore than he could abide by the foolish, idiotic scheme that had taken his sister from him. Better for Lalli to spread his wings and fly someplace he would be appreciated, and better for him to do it without the stone that was Onni weighing heavy around his neck.

If he could just set an anchor, or a beacon… Unlike the Icelandic mages that danced over the dark sea separating dreams, it was unsafe (and unwise) for a Finnish mage to head off into the water without a destination, especially the river separating the living from the dead. Lalli had never been taught, but there were ways for a Finn to tie himself back to his own dream and cast a line out to travel on. None of those ways had worked thus far; perhaps because this close to Tuonela, the waters were too rough, or perhaps because it wasn’t just his spirit he was trying to anchor.

But if he could just figure out how to anchor himself without drawing unwanted attention, he would be able to overcome the doubts that plagued him and set off. He knew that. So why couldn’t he manage such a simple task?

“Hey! I think I see him!”

It took him a second too long to place the voice, unexpected as it was. The Swede, the annoying one that didn’t speak _ either _ of the languages that Onni spoke, the one he entrusted Lalli to because even if he was annoying, he was still the first friend Lalli had ever made. But the Swede couldn’t possibly be here; for one, on the edge of the river of Touni, only another Finn should have been able to approach. For another, he was supposed to be safe and west, still in Iceland with— 

“Onni!” Lalli’s voice cut through the panicked spiral of his thoughts, making all of his nightmares that much more real. “Onni, you _ lied!”_

He turned away from the dark waters of the river, towards the words that both came, he realized, in Finnish. Here, past the border where the real world crossed into the dream, dream-logic prevailed. The faintest impression of cat ears hovered behind Lalli’s head, while the Swede was haloed by blonde hair and the ephemeral runes of the Icelandic gods. Both of them were at least dressed for the hard wilderness of the mountains.

It was a cold comfort, when he knew they’d followed him so far north, to the edge of the world and the crossover into the land of dreams. At least it wouldn’t be exposure that killed them.

“Lalli, you shouldn’t be here,” Onni said, knowing it would be futile but still desperately hopeful that Lalli would listen to reason. Tuuri had never been a cautious soul, but Lalli _ knew_.

“You lied!” his cousin repeated, bounding over the rocks at the river’s edge with a grace that nevertheless gave Onni a heart attack. “You said you’d be in Keuruu! You told Reynir that you were heading to Saimaa! You’re not in _ either _ of those places!”

“How did you even _ get _ here? It took Reynir four hours to figure out how to open the path, and he had to stay behind.” The Swede—Emil, Onni reminded himself, since the man was right in front of him now—craned his head around to peer into the fog around Tuonela.

“He shouldn’t have been able to do it at all.” For an Icelandic mage to manage… He’d known Reynir was strong, but there was a league of difference between the fumbling mage who’d begged for help over the radio and _ this_. “Lalli, it’s dangerous for you. You should go back.”

“We’re _ all _ going back,” Lalli said, his thin fingers wrapping around Onni’s wrist in clear demand. His thin face was set, so like their grandmother’s, and it made Onni’s chest ache to see it. For years, Lalli had been lost, drifting wherever his relatives or commanding officers directed him. He’d found his drive.

It was unfortunate that it came at the expense of Onni’s goals. “I have something to do first, Lalli. I would have gone back to Keruu once it was done.”

The hard lines of Lalli’s expression faded into the soft, unhappy look that Onni was more familiar with. Though he didn’t pull his hand away from Onni’s wrist, his attention drifted to the river and Tuonela. Even without it spelled out, Lalli would know.

“I made sure she went. I made sure she was safe,” he said, his grip loosening.

“I know. But I have to see her, Lalli.” The tight lump in his throat that had never quite gone away threatened to choke him. “I just want to see her, one last time.”

“I’m coming with you.” For all that Lalli’s voice and expression had gone soft, the fingers around Onni’s wrist tightened with determination again. It was clear that Lalli had no intentions of letting him go alone and, selfishly, Onni was grateful for that. He’d done everything he could to let Lalli fly free. Just this once, he could be happy that his cousin refused to do that.

“Then you’ll have to help me find a boat. I haven’t been able to see a good way across, and you can’t fly,” Onni said firmly, pushing back the tears that tried to well up.

“Do we really need one?” Emil’s voice was an unpleasant intrusion, but when Onni looked up to inform him that _ yes _ they needed a boat, the words died before they could emerge. The Swede was standing. On the water. Of the river. With nothing under his feet except for the black rush of guaranteed death.

Beside him, Lalli froze up as well. Emil seemed affably confused by the silence, trotting back to the rocky shore and stepping onto land without any understanding of what he’d done. He looked between them, then settled a hand on Lalli’s shoulder and said, “Onni, right? Why not just walk over?”

“You— _ How_—” Onni sputtered, staring at the halo of sparking runes around Emil’s head. Was it his strange gods? Did they offer some small token of protection, like the gift to Icelandic mages that let them cross through dreams without thinking about it?

“Well, it’s like a dream, right?” With that utterly unhelpful insight, Emil promptly turned and stepped out onto the water again, this time dragging Lalli behind him. Under his feet, a faint glow stopped him from falling into the river, and an even fainter mirror of it flattened the water under Lalli’s feet.

There was no glow for Onni. His first step sank deep, and he tore his hand out of Lalli’s to scramble back up on shore before the water could sweep him away.

Ah. Of course. He’d been so set on this course, so determined to do this alone and avoid risking Lalli, that he’d never considered he might be unable to do it at all. Not because of his cowardice, which Onni was well familiar with, but simply because he wasn’t clever enough or powerful enough to figure his way out over the river. Lalli and his friend would be able see Tuuri’s sleeping face. Onni would not.

It wasn’t enough to take his sister from him, when he should have been out there in the wilderness with her. Fate had to take this last hope from him too.

Lalli looked down at his feet, then at Emil, then towards where Onni was sitting on the black rocks with his head in his hands. The ghostly impression of cat ears flicked once, twice, and abruptly he started dragging Emil back the way they came. The Swede protested but made no move to stop him, and very soon after, they were gone.

Tuoni still had his gaze turned elsewhere. Onni tried to find a measure of relief in that, in the knowledge that they would be _ allowed _ to leave at all, but it was difficult. He’d known the risks coming here. He’d planned for them, even if his courage had faltered at the shore when no way back was evident. Much as he hoped Lalli would come back swiftly, a greater part of him hoped that Lalli wouldn’t come back at all. That he would leave, live a life free of the burden that was Onni, be happy with his friends and the newfound family they represented.

That he would free Onni of the burden of staying.

It was as selfish a thought as his decision to stay in Keuruu had been, but he couldn’t shake it. His sister was dead. His cousin didn’t need him anymore. He’d failed his grandmother, despite saving the three of them, and he had no real connections within Keuruu. The world had moved on without him while he was trapped in the cage his anxiety built, and if he could just be _ certain _ that Lalli wouldn’t follow him over the river…

But he couldn’t be sure of that, not with how far Lalli had come already. The crunch of footsteps down the shore was evidence of that, his cousin returning far quicker than Onni would have though. He looked up, knowing that his eyes were red and puffy, then squinted at the third they’d brought with him.

“Since Reynir is needed to keep the path open, and Sigrun is our best warrior, I’m the only one that could come,” Mikkel told him, extending a hand to help him up. “Lalli theorizes that I can help you across the river.”

“It could work,” Onni said, taking the hand. Much like Emil, Mikkel’s head was haloed by runes and his own fluffy blonde hair. Unlike Emil, who carried a hint of lightning and old oak in his presence, Mikkel’s halo reminded him more of Tuuri, or the Swedes Onni had been forced to stay with while waiting for any hint his family might return from the Silent World. A skald’s presence.

“We’ll go see Tuuri, and then we’ll come back.” Lalli’s voice was uncharacteristically firm. “And you’ll come back with us. You _ have _ to, Onni.”

He was too worn thin to argue. If that was the price Lalli demanded in return for helping Onni reach Tuonela, then he’d agree to it. Even gloved, Mikke’s hand was broad and warm, and Onni gripped it firmly as he followed Lalli and Emil out onto the water.

This time, his feet landed as if he were walking across a dry, flat field. Once certain that Onni would make it, Lalli fell back behind him, his voice near-silent as he whispered with Emil. There, but letting Onni take the lead. After all, this was a territory Onni was more familiar with; Lalli might be an indifferent mage, but he was a good scout, and he knew when to defer to others with more knowledge.

Beside him, Mikkel said, “I understand why you had to come here. I’m an eldest brother too.”

The two behind them didn’t look up, still following the faint glow of their footsteps across the water. Since Onni could not hear them either, he hoped this conversation wouldn’t carry. He had a feeling it might reveal some ugly truths that Lalli, even growing bolder and wiser, shouldn’t have to face.

“How many siblings do you have?” He’d met Emil’s family, and Reynir’s, but the fierce Sigrun and Mikkel were mysteries to him. It had been impossible to tell which of Mikkel’s stories were truth and which were lies during those long hours on the radio, hoping Tuuri would be able to talk to him, being stuck with Mikke’s dry sense of humor instead.

“Six.” And then, clearly anticipating Onni’s next question, he said, “Three sisters, though only one is close to Tuuri’s age. Still. I have a great deal of experience foiling their plots against me.”

“If your sister went off on a venture like this, would you have gone with her?” Onni didn’t dare look up and see the look Mikkel was giving him. If it were contempt, he would deserve it, but if it were pity, he wasn’t sure if he could handle the sight of it on Mikkel’s broad, placid face.

“…I think our situations are altogether different. None of my siblings had the urge to wander the way Tuuri did, and they are all immune. Even if you had come, at best we could hope for an easier time, but at worst, you would have been injured as well. It was luck, for good or for ill, that lead to your sister’s death, rather than Reynir’s.”

_ No_, Onni thought, though he didn’t speak the truth he knew deep in his bones, _ it wasn’t_. Tuuri, for all that she was Finnish, had not been a mage, and she’d had little care for the gods or the rituals mages were careful to hold to. Reynir, powerful and blessed with providence, had caught the eye of his gods long before he ever ended up on that southern shore. In a choice between the two, the gods had tipped their hand and used that favor as they would.

He would never tell anyone, especially Reynir, that he suspected this, but the gods’ touch on Emil and Mikkel all but confirmed it. Why else should an ill-equipped, poorly planned, foolhardy venture into the Silent World succeed? The Swedes wouldn’t think of that, and Taru regarded magic with the same paternalistic disregard she had for children, but Onni knew.

Still. Mikkel was likely right. If his suspicions were true, one more Finn would not have been enough to tip the scales in Tuuri’s favor. It didn’t make the loss of her ache any less.

“And I suppose if you had gone, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to woo the fair maiden you’re holding hands with now,” Mikkel said blandly.

“What?” Onni stumbled, the river washing harmlessly under his clumsy feet, then stared. There was no hint of a smile on Mikkel’s face, only the same neutral expression he always wore, something faintly tired and dismissive about it.

And yet. While Onni was watching, he saw Mikkel glance his way and smile with the tiniest lift of his lips. “I’m an exceptional chef, a talented seamstress, and a well-trained farmhand. I can lift a pig under each arm. My locks are golden and silky. Any man would be proud of a wife like me.”

“Tuuri told me you were a terrible cook,” Onni said, tightening his grip on Mikkel’s hand.

“There’s no accounting for taste.” The tiny smile was gone as swiftly as it had arrived, but Onni had the measure of him now, and he was almost positive that Mikkel was joking. Almost.

“Was she happy?” The shore of Tuonela faded into view through the fog rocky and uncompromising. Already the dark waters of the river were lightening, clearing up as they grew shallower and shallower. “When she was out there, exploring, was she happy?”

“She didn’t like the restrictions she was under, but otherwise… Yes, I think she was happy. Ow.” Like a bird hitting a window, Mikkel’s knuckles thonked against an invisible barrier at the edge of the fog. Onni took a step more, then stopped, looking back at him.

Moments later, Lalli and Emil emerged from the fog as well, and Emil’s response was much more dramatic. “Augh! What? There’s nothing here!”

“Lalli.” Onni waited for him to look over, then released Mikkel’s hand. The water was glassy smooth and gentle in the shallows, and he only dropped a few inches into it when the foreign power under his feet faded. “It’s only us, now. They can’t enter Tuonela.”

“What? Why?! Are you just going to leave us—?!” Emil’s panicked rant was swiftly cut off, Lalli’s thin hand firmly pressed over his mouth.

“We’ll come back,” Onni told him, “but you should stay as quiet as you can. Tuoni hasn’t noticed us yet, and since we didn’t come via boat, neither has the ferryman. If we’re lucky, that will hold true.”

“We’ll wait,” Mikkel said, hooking a hand in the back of Emil’s coat and dragging him a step closer. “Take your time.”

Lalli released Emil’s hand, bounding the last few steps over the water before the magic disappeared. With a final nod to their companions, Onni followed him, casting his mage senses out as subtly as he could. Tuuri was his sister, bound to him by blood and hardship, and her spirit was a single bright candle in his mind. Beside him, Lalli was watching, his silver eyes gleaming as he took in the shape of the magic Onni was spinning.

“It works better with incantation,” he said softly. “And it works for a few things. I’ll teach it to you when we get back.”

Lalli smiled, faint but pleased. “Yes.”

Onni set Tuuri’s glow as his beacon, then set off, Lalli a half step behind him. Lalli, at least, he didn’t have to warn about noise; as always, his cousin was light footed as a cat, ghosting across the ground like he was made of the same fog that wrapped around Tuonela. They passed the sleeping forms of the long since dead, hundreds of spirits resting forever under Tuoni’s care. The god still hadn’t noticed them, and Onni was aware that their luck was running thin.

Tuuri was curled up in a small copse of bilberry bushes, their red leaves heavy with fruit still, caught forever on the cusp of fall. Behind him, Lalli’s breath hitched slightly, but his eyes were clear when he crouched next to Tuuri’s ankles, his fingertips resting lightly on her shin. Onni sat slowly by her head, folding his legs underneath himself and taking her hand. When he’d last seen her she’d just shaved her head again, but it was a mess of spiky fluff now, so like the hedgehog her luonto took the shape of.

“Tuuri Kaino-Vieno Hotakainen.” The words took on a weight that his voice alone couldn’t supply, and Onni felt the tingle of magic in the back of his skull. “Wake up, Tuuri. I nee—I want to talk to you.”

At first, it seemed like nothing would happen. Then, with a soft sigh, she shifted and opened her eyes. For a moment, confusion reigned, her gaze darting between them, and then it caught on the unreal sky above them.

“Oh. I’m dead,” Tuuri said, her hand twitching between Onni’s palms.

“Yes, but,” Onni swallowed, feeling the burn in his eyes and the tightness in his throat, “you made it Tuonela. I got your message. I just—I needed to see you again.”

At her feet, Lalli nodded. His hand trembled slightly where it rested on her leg. He wasn’t one much for crying, not like Onni, but he showed his emotions as deeply in his own ways. Tuuri sat up slowly and took Lalli’s hand, then looked up at her brother with a smile.

“You know, I saw so many things when we were out there.” Her gaze softened, went distant. “In Sweden, in Denmark, in the Silent World… They have a train in Sweden that we got to ride, and they let me drive the tank! It was everything I ever wanted, Onni. It was everything I’d dreamed of.”

“You were happy,” he said, hands tightening around hers. He knew. Of course he knew that she was so, so unhappy in Keuruu, forever caught by the failure of her immune system, trapped like a bird in a cage just the same as Onni had been trapped.

“I was happy. And I think that even if I knew what would happen, I’d go again. I don’t regret it! But…” She sighed and tucked her head against his shoulder, in a way she hadn’t done since they were children, back when he sometimes carried her back to the cabin if she was worn from gathering food during the harvest. “I’m tired, Onni. I think it’s time for me to rest now.”

“Yes,” Onni said, Lalli his quiet echo. “Thank you for seeing me, Tuuri. You can sleep now.”

With another sigh, she slipped from his grip, curled up again in the bilberry leaves and fell still and silent. Onni watched her face for a few minutes more, then let Lalli urge him up onto his feet. He’d neglected to set an anchor for himself at the shore where their companions waited, but Lalli’s scout training lead him true through the land of the dead. The hair on the back of his neck rose as their feet hit the water, Tuoni’s attention starting to shift their direction, and it drove a little extra urgency into his steps.

“We should go before Tuoni sees us,” he said, gripping Mikkel’s hand tight and watching as Lalli did the same. It was simple to step up on the water again, passing into the fog around Tuonela and wrapping himself in the uneasy protection of foreign gods.

“You know, I used to believe in real things, like science,” Emil said, sounding about as stupid as he looked. With a snort, Lalli started dragging him forward, away from the island.

“Perhaps a better way of thinking about it would be _ differently _ real,” Mikkel said diplomatically, keeping pace with Onni’s sure steps towards the shore. Tuoni’s interest faded once they were through the fog, and both mages let out silent sighs of relief, leading their companions back to the shore. “Are we finished here, then?”

Tuonela loomed behind him. Onni kept his gaze forward, his grip on Mikkel’s hand still tight despite the lack of need now. He would join his sister again someday, but there were things that needed to be done first.

“Yes,” he said, “we’re finished here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if it counts as "Character reunites with someone they thought was dead" when she really _is_ dead, but, well. You know. I'm always sad about Onni, and I was _really_ interested in the dynamic between him and Mikkel you painted, so I hope I did it justice!


End file.
